


Plus One -or- Amanda By Moonlight

by geekmama



Series: Time of the Season [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: ...Amanda Hooper narrowed her eyes at the posh, overgrown schoolboy who’d cast his bizarre enchantment on her poor daughter. “Since we are being frank, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you will explain to me precisely what you were doing the morning of June 2nd last year?”...____________________Set after Rosie's birth in 'The Six Thatchers', this is written for the First Date prompt for May 15th of Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2017.





	Plus One -or- Amanda By Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> For the 'How?' prompt.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ************************

 

“Mum, this is Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said, with what could only be termed a proud smile. 

Mrs. Amanda Hooper smiled slightly, too, but only to mask the disapprobation -- no, _fury!_ \- that rose in her breast at the sight of her daughter’s nemesis, a man who, for all his purported intelligence, had for years failed to see what was right in front of his nose, effectively ruining Molly’s chance to live a happy and fruitful life -- and by fruitful she _did_ mean grandchildren, damn the man’s ice blue eyes straight to hell! 

Apparently he was perceptive enough to realize there was something amiss, for there was a wariness in his expression as he said in a smooth, deep voice, “How do you do,” and shook her hand. 

That voice, that unusually handsome face, the slim, yet powerful physique, now clothed in a perfectly cut bespoke suit that was probably worth more than Molly’s entire wardrobe -- well, it was obvious why her daughter found him attractive. Mrs. Hooper’s ire increased, though she allowed her smile to grow broader -- perhaps a trifle on the sharky side. She said, breezily, “You’re Molly’s plus one tonight, I take it? How _kind_ of you to step into the breach, since she and Tom are no longer… _well.._.” 

“Not at all,” Holmes murmured, looking even more wary. 

“Mum!” Molly protested. “It’s been months since… since Tom and I--” 

“--agreed you should not suit after all, yes, yes, I know,” Mrs. Hooper gave a sad sigh and allowed her smile to turn wistful for a moment, but then said to Sherlock, “So, do you like weddings? This one has gone very well so far, I think -- but Molly’s cousin was always a perfectionist, and her mother is the same, and has such good taste. Every detail taken into account, just beautifully planned.” 

“It certainly seems… _er_ … an exemplary function thus far,” Holmes managed. 

Mrs. Hooper gave a bark of laughter, startling Molly and alarming Holmes. She said, “Oh! Oh, forgive me, but what a wonderfully insidious swipe!” 

“Ummm…” Sherlock said, apparently bereft of words. 

But Molly slipped her arm in his and said pointedly, “We’re _both_ enjoying ourselves, and Sherlock is very fond of dancing, so it should be lots of fun, later.” 

“Are you, indeed?” Mrs. Hooper exclaimed. She looked up at Sherlock and said innocently, “Do you often take Molly to _trip the light fantastic_?” 

He looked somewhat horrified, for of course he’d never in five years asked her out at all -- ‘ _Our relationship isn’t like that’ my eye!_ thought Mrs. Hooper viciously -- and Molly was little less affected. 

Mrs. Hooper pursed her lips. 

Holmes, however, seemed to detect her vindictiveness, and turned a trifle grim. “I haven’t had a chance to take Molly out dancing as yet, which is one reason I was happy she asked me to accompany her to your niece’s wedding.” He glanced at Molly and gave her a comforting smile. 

Molly returned the smile, and actually made sheep’s eyes at the blighter. Mrs. Hooper ground her teeth. However, before she could say more, dinner was announced. 

“Oh, dear!” said Molly, quickly. “Mum, you’d better go lend your support to Aunt Betty, I can see she’s flailing a bit, over there by the ice sculpture. Sherlock and I are seated at one of the lower tables, but we’ll see you again, before we leave, at least.” She tugged at the man’s arm. “Let’s go get a cup of champagne punch before we sit down.” 

“ _Punch?_ ” Holmes blurted, with loathing. 

“Come _on!_ ” Molly said, briefly looking daggers at him. 

Holmes muttered something unintelligible, nodded to Mrs. Hooper, and allowed himself to be hauled away. 

Mrs. Hooper sniffed, her expression turning stony. She might have been temporarily balked of her prey, but If Sherlock Holmes thought he would escape her wrath that easily, he could think again. 

* 

It wasn’t until after the dancing had been going on for some time that Mrs. Hooper found a chance to corner the posh, overgrown schoolboy who’d cast his bizarre enchantment on her poor daughter. After Molly’s cousin Bitsy and her new spouse, Harold, had completed their first dance as husband and wife, Holmes led Molly onto the floor and Mrs. Hooper had the questionable satisfaction of watching them move gracefully about for some half an hour, looking quite as though they were meant to be together. Holmes was indeed a very good dancer -- probably had lessons as a boy. She gave a snort of laughter at one point, imagining him as a stroppy teen, all arms and legs and sulky expression as he’d led out some spotty chit with braces and baby fat. If Amanda ever chanced to meet the boy’s mother she would ask for the amusing details. 

Finally, however, nature called, Molly excused herself to the ladies’, and Holmes slipped out one of the glass doors leading to the terrace. 

Mrs. Hooper followed him. 

It was a cold evening as spring had barely begun, and the terrace was virtually deserted but for the two of them, a circumstance that Amanda considered to be proof that Providence had blessed her mission. As she crossed the marble expanse, Sherlock was at the balustrade, lighting up a cigarette, and Molly’s mother chose to make this execrable habit the subject of her opening volley. 

“Another of your addictions, Mr. Holmes? Not as reformed a character as the tabloids would have us believe, apparently.” 

He had turned as the sound of her footsteps had reached his ears and now, as she approached, she heard him swear under his breath as he straightened to his full height and looked down his nose at her in a way that seemed a composite of a whole roomful of portraits in the National Gallery: rich, entitled, and a complete bastard. 

Well… not _complete,_ perhaps. Molly would hardly have given her heart to one wholly given over to selfish depravity. But still… 

“Mrs. Hooper,” said Holmes, stiffly, “I am not entirely certain why you’ve taken me in such dislike--” 

“Indeed, Mr. Holmes? And here my daughter has described your powers of deduction in such extravagant terms -- but of course anyone may be taken in by a handsome face.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since we are being frank, perhaps you will explain to me precisely what you were doing the morning of June 2nd last year?” 

He frowned, but for a moment only. “Your... birthday?” 

“Indeed. My birthday. Molly and I were to go to breakfast and do some shopping, and I arrived at her flat just a trifle earlier than originally expected.” 

He scowled. “Yes. I remember. I suppose you saw me?” 

“Indeed. I _saw_ you climbing out of my daughter’s bedroom window, and in a state of undress that _she_ might have found gratifying but that _I_ certainly did not! And this when she was still, to my certain knowledge, _engaged to Tom Blakely_.” 

She could not be sure in the moonlight, but she thought he might be flushing. 

“Ma’am, I assure you--” 

“There is nothing you can say that will _assure_ me, Mr. Holmes. I know my daughter, and have no doubt that it was _you_ who led her astray, _you_ who took advantage of her kind heart, _you_ who rose from the grave and swooped back into London, effectively destroying her relationship to one who was not only willing but eager to make her happy!” 

“I did nothing of the sort -- and anyway, it was a ridiculous match! They were entirely unsuited.” 

“Because he wasn’t _you?_ ” 

“ _Because she was too good for him!_ ” And then he added, in a much quieter tone, “Just as she’s too good for me -- which you would do well to remember.” 

Amanda gaped. “You can’t possibly ask me to believe--” 

“--I want you to _believe_ I have Molly’s best interests at heart! Because that’s the truth.” 

He sounded not only sincere, but regretful, and for a moment Amanda’s wrath faded. But no. Molly’s happiness was at stake. She drew herself up. “It will not do. Molly has told me little of your relationship, save that you and she are friends as well as colleagues, and are now co-Godparents to the daughter of Dr. Watson and his wife. Yet one thing is certain: Molly has determined that, in spite of your many shortcomings -- and I have no doubt that they are _legion_ \-- you have somehow cast every other man of her acquaintance into the shade! It doesn’t matter a particle whether her single state is due to her strange predilection for your uncooperative person or to your own dog-in-the-manger attitude toward any man who dares to enter her orbit -- very likely it’s a bloody perfect storm of both! But there is one fact that is undeniable: you have compromised my daughter, Mr. Holmes, and _it will not do!_ ” 

“Compromised! I swear--” 

“Her _heart_ , idiot boy!” 

He stared. 

So she went on. “I will give you _one year_. You will either find a way to free her, or you will alter time and space, or do whatever else it takes to be a man worthy to join my daughter at the altar. Is that clear?” 

He now looked exasperated. “Setting aside the absurdity of that entire sentence, have you ever thought that she might not wish to marry?” 

Amanda snorted derisively. “ _Ask_ her Mr. Holmes. But of course, you’ve never even asked her _out to dinner,_ have you?” 

He was effectively silenced, and, she thought, at least somewhat shamed, but then he suddenly looked up and said quietly, “Here she comes,” and a smile of both relief and welcome lightened his expression -- and undeniably increased his already considerable good looks. 

“ _One year_ , Mr. Holmes,” Amanda said, firmly, and wished for approximately the millionth time that her dear husband was still alive. If ever a young scoundrel needed a thrashing... 

Holmes glanced at her impatiently. “Yes, all right.” 

“What about _one year_?” asked Molly, coming up to them. 

Amanda said, mildly, “We were just considering how much can happen in a year, weren’t we, Mr. Holmes?” 

Sherlock did not reply, but took Molly’s hand and tucked it in his arm. “Come, let’s go in and dance some more. It’s bloody _freezing_ out here.” 

“I know!” Molly exclaimed. “Mum, you’re like to catch your death without your wrap!” 

“Oh, no,” said Amanda. “There’s far too much to look forward to. But it i _s_ time to go in -- Bitsy will be throwing her bouquet any time now, and you won’t like to miss your chance to catch it and be the next one married.” 

Molly’s laughter at this was rather subdued, and Sherlock gave Amanda a _look_ over Molly’s shoulder. 

Amanda pulled a face at him and silently mouthed, _One Year!_  

_*_

It was nearly eleven o’clock when Amanda Hooper rose from her bed the following morning. The reception had not ended until the wee hours, though Molly and Sherlock had taken their leave well before midnight, having the long drive back to London before them. 

In the clear light of a new day, Amanda did wonder if she had been entirely wise to confront Sherlock in such a manner. Molly’s happiness was all, of course, but if it was dependent upon the erratic consulting detective, a favorable outcome was far from a certainty. Still, what was done was done. Amanda thoughtfully poured herself a cup of her favorite tea, stirred in some milk and honey, and took a sip. 

 _Heaven!_  

And there was the sound of her mobile phone. 

With a groan of annoyance, she went into the sitting room to fetch the device, but she brightened when she discovered that it was Molly calling. 

“Hello, dear!” Amanda said, cheerily. “I thought you had to work today.” 

“I do!” Molly replied. “I’m at work right now, though it’s slow enough that I thought I’d give you a call. Late evening?” 

“I didn’t get home until past three! But your Aunt was so pleased with the way things turned out last night. I must say, it all went splendidly. Did you and Mr. Holmes have a good time?” 

“Oh, yes! We danced and danced.” 

“And looked lovely doing it,” said Amanda with complete truth. 

Molly said, archly, “Sherlock _is_ very good looking.”

“Now Molly, you know what I meant.” 

“Yes, all right. But… Mummy…” 

“Yes?” Amanda stiffened, suddenly nervous. 

“You didn’t _say_ anything to Sherlock, did you? I mean...  well…” 

“What on earth am I supposed to have said?” Amanda asked, her heart beating appreciably faster. 

“I don’t know but… he’s asked me out! To dinner -- and we’re going dancing after. It’s unprecedented, I assure you.” 

“Then it’s about time, isn’t it? It’s probably because he’s discovered what a good dancer you are.” 

Molly laughed. “But I’m not!. Not ballroom dancing, at least. It’s just so easy dancing with him. He leads so well, it feels rather like floating on a cloud.” 

“That’s just how it should be. And you two do make a lovely couple.” 

“Thank you, Mum. I must say, I never thought… but just lately… I mean...” 

“Molly, dear, sometimes things just take a little longer than one would prefer. That doesn’t mean those things aren’t destined to be.” 

“Perhaps,” Molly said, a smile in her voice. “I suppose time will tell. Thank you, Mum.” 

“I’m not sure why you’re thanking me, but you’re more than welcome, my darling. But really, Molly: don’t you feel it’s about time your Prince Charming was roused from his long sleep?” 

“Prince Charming! Oh, he’d _hate_ that!” Molly exclaimed, genuinely amused. 

And Amanda, calming herself and newly confident that time _would_ tell, chuckled and took another sip of her tea.

 

~.~

 


End file.
